Ditto
by Paxa.Romana
Summary: She never could manage to say those three words back to him, and even in his final hour she hoped that maybe the word 'ditto' would be enough.


Ditto

A Oneshot by Desireé Lemmon

A/N: Happy New Year. Here's just a little outlet I used to channel some writing fuel. You may decide who the characters are. -love- Desireé

_And there he lay_

_among the purgatory and torment he had endured in many recent months,_

_slowly drowning in the pity that had been thrust upon him_

_And there she stood_

_with hair like the night and hands like the earth and eyes like the ocean,_

_shaking uncontrollably as she came to realize that these hours were limited_

The doctor is a tall man, no older than forty, with a few creases in his face like an old piece of leather. "Excuse me," he mumbles in a professional voice. The girl he has addressed gives him an artificially grateful nod, when in reality she would love nothing more than to push him down a flight of stairs and watch him crash on the second landing. _Wishful thinking_, she silently says.

_Any room like this_

_being the habitat of a patient so close to nothing,_

_would normally have balloons and flowers and cards that meant well_

_But this particular room_

_being the habitat of a patient who _was_ nothing,_

_had only the fragile little notion of a girl he wished he could love forever_

He is perfectly awake, wholly aware, thoroughly alert. She kneels beside the bed, which has no IV hooked up to it, no beeping monitor, no disruption of peace. She is grateful. Maybe the doctor was a complete jackass, but the hospital nurses knew when to stop pretending they could be helpful.

_Many hours were spent_

_trying and failing and over again,_

_to figure out a way to salvage this life and spare the thought of loss_

_Few hours were spent_

_after trying and failing and over again,_

_to accept the truth for what it was and only be happy it hadn't yet finalized_

"You look terrible," he laughs hoarsely. His throat is not sore, or scratchy, or swollen with infection. The reason of his raspy voice is, in fact, his attempt not to cry in front of her.

"Thanks," she replies in a sarcastic tone. This makes him smile and she feels a small swell of accomplishment inside her. The last breaths he would take would not be in vain. She wanted to make sure of that.

_Surely some relative of his_

_after debating with themselves about their own morals,_

_would come to visit because it was the right thing to do_

_Inevitably no relative of his_

_after deciding he had severed ties so they would do the same,_

_would come to visit because it was a foolish thing to do_

"I'll miss you," she whispers after what seems like an hour. With a glance at the clock, she finds it's only been five minutes. It isn't clear to her whether or not this was a good thing. He looks at her; she tries to find the pain in his eyes, but he does a good job of concealing it. "I'll miss you a lot."

For a moment, she wonders if she has said the wrong thing, because he willfully turns his head away, his neck craned so he stares out the window. Then he responds, "I know. I'll miss you, too."

_In the merry month of December_

_with the exchange of gifts and the lighting of candles and singing of songs,_

_families celebrated their religions proudly_

_And in the merry month of December_

_with no presents to give but herself, no lights to shine but her eyes, no tune to whistle but her own sweet voice,_

_she celebrated one last time with this abandoned boy she loved_

They rest for a while, his hand shielding hers, her thumb clamped around his wrist protectively. The sun is lower when she wakes up, her back stiff from sitting awkwardly on a stool and slanting against the bedside. She looks up to see he is smiling at her. It is a weak smile, but one nonetheless. "Have you slept at all?" she laughs as she sits up straight, her spine cracking slightly.

"No," he says defiantly, "I do not plan to miss anything by wasting my last days on sleep." She gets quiet and he frowns. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," the girl sighs achingly. She leans down and kisses his palm with eggshell candor because there is no strength in her to gravitate toward him and let her lips meet his.

The clock says evening time. She knows the doctor will be returning to tell her visiting hours are over, but it doesn't even matter anymore. Perhaps the hospital staff has realized this, too, because by the time the sunset comes and goes, no one has knocked to bother them.

For the very first time in a long time, she feels at peace. And as her eyes flutter closed, he traces the words 'I love you' into her forearm with his finger. Her lips curl up in a smile and she takes a breath, something he won't be able to do tomorrow. "Ditto."

_This last hour spent as he lay there_

_forgetful of the torment and agony that he had endured with her,_

_now inhaling the sweet air he had taken for granted all these years_

_This last hour spent as she slept there_

_naïve to the hurt that would launch upon the world quite soon,_

_instead taking in his presence for the last time with the word _ditto_ hanging in her head_.


End file.
